


Bosom Bodyguard

by Snarkoleptic



Series: Of Mages and Kings [8]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Adventure, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-23
Updated: 2011-12-23
Packaged: 2017-10-27 23:00:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/300989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snarkoleptic/pseuds/Snarkoleptic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An old friend arrives in Denerim and agrees to aid in a compromise between Danica Amell and Alistair, surprised at how quickly she earns his respect.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bosom Bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

> This one-shot is set in the world established by Through the Blackest Nights. Eventually, as they grow closer, Danica will hear in lurid detail a certain elf's account of the Blight.  
> 
> 
> * * *

Danica supposed it had been inevitable that she would be asked to focus her courtly attention elsewhere. A stray noble with a council position and no active duties rankled among the nobility and in truth, she was only surprised it had taken almost a full year for someone to point out she was doing little more than warming a chair, even if she was engaged to the King. In the grand scheme, it could fairly be said she'd gotten off easy – she had been tasked with overseeing and reporting to Alistair on the renovation and reconstruction of the alienage in Denerim. She considered her approach for her first meeting in that capacity as she dressed, distressing her lady's maid by choosing her preferred travel leathers over any number of the "queenly" ensembles designed to show off her… authority. Well, _and_ her authority, anyway. _Not that I've got any of either to show off to start with._

Since her confirmation as liaison remained after the fall of the Circle, she would be liaisoning – she smiled to herself as her old joke with her betrothed came to mind – with Bann Valendrian, giving him rather more direct access to Crown resources than he might have had in open court. This was all to the good, as far as she was concerned. She enjoyed working with the man, and had been one of the handful of humans to openly applaud Alistair's recent edicts on improving living conditions within alienages in his kingdom.

Which, of course, prompted him to give her the eye the next time someone pointed out the still-vacant Arling of Denerim, which was currently held under the auspices of the Crown. Seems the way the last two arls had gone, nobody wanted to run what was arguably the most corrupt arling in the country under the direct supervision of a King who didn't seem to tolerate that sort of thing. _Can't blame them. I don't want the headache, either._

She was sure he wouldn't do that to her. Yet. Hopefully ever. Hilda hadn't finished beating proper ladylike behavior into her yet, and she knew even less about governance and rule. In theory, the experiment with the alienage was supposed to show her she knew more than she thought. She might have been tempted to bollocks it up on purpose, if it weren't for the elves who would suffer for her efforts.

And then there was the bodyguard. Glib and flirtatious as ever – except after having one of his somber discussions of the past with Alistair – Zevran had shown up in the city to pronounce dead the final Crow actively engaged in hunting her down after she had so brazenly walked the streets of Antiva City itself last year. She and Alistair had both agreed he would be an ideal escort whenever she left the castle, and she reflected again what a load off that had been. She'd caught a good dozen different kinds of trouble from her betrothed after admitting she'd gone out on her own, in the dark, and ended up brawling with a couple of toughs near the alienage.

In the end, Alistair had conceded that she could handle herself, and she had agreed to take a bodyguard as a compromise so he'd have someone to yell at over any future tussles she got into. It had just been a stroke of luck that Zevran had reappeared and volunteered himself for the duty, even if it had taken a month for him to figure out that having a guard didn't mean she would stand about helplessly and scream like a proper queen while he did all the fighting.

Poor Alistair missed out on his wish, though. Danica knew he'd no more explode at Zevran than he would at her, even if the assassin _did_ choose the most awkward times to jest about wooing him away from her.

"Thank you for your assistance, Hilda, as ever," she said, in the rounded tones the woman insisted she use. Even if she did gesture with the tip of her staff on the way out the door with her attendants, just to get her goat. "Enjoy your day. I expect to be out until the evening meal."

The lady's maid, peering down her nose at the mage's exit, corrected her. "My Lady has her lessons in etiquette and decorum after the midday meal is cleared."

"Unfortunately, matters in the alienage have been left unattended for much too long. I feel certain I shall be required to take an extended meeting with Bann Valendrian to acquaint myself."

"My Lady has, I fear, left her studies in this area for an equally alarming length of time. I beg her reconsider."

Turning on her heel to head out the door, Danica abandoned her faux-formal speech and called her parting shot over her shoulder. "Your Lady is on the edge of displaying a finger or two you'd never see during teatime, so you can assume from context she knows what's proper."

* * *

Today's visit to the alienage had also served another purpose – it was Lynia's first return trip since her move to the castle and her elevation to recognition as Danica's lady in waiting. It seemed the reunion and the resultant celebrations were set to continue past the dinner hour, so after Valendrian had retreated from their discussions, she and Zevran were left at loose ends. This was fine with both of them; the simpler fare they could scrounge in the alienage was much more appetizing than whatever would be going on in the castle's dining hall. A runner was dispatched to the castle so Alistair wouldn't worry, and they found a bench from which to eat and enjoy the evening in the shade of the Vhenadahl.

Strangely, Zevran had yet to act overtly flirtatious with Lynia or Gera. He restricted his attentions to Danica – all right, and Alistair when he could get away with it – but didn't respond to similar teasing in kind. He seemed determined to avoid any serious personal connections, while at the same time appearing disappointed whenever he wasn't able to see one or the other of the royal couple for more than a day or two.

Of course Alistair hadn't betrayed any confidences – and Danica would never ask him to do so – but the assassin had gradually been dropping little personal remarks as he became more comfortable with her. She imagined that whenever the pair disappeared into Alistair's study, they were talking about their shared experiences during the Blight, and that was fine with her. She'd been able to piece together a bit more, though. From the way he spoke, she suspected what the two were after with their private chats. A brother and a lover, lost when he struck the killing blow against the Archdemon.

Even if the King and the assassin hadn't particularly cared for each other as they traveled, she supposed, some circumstances were capable of creating bonds out of whole cloth. And, she had to admit, it _was_ entertaining, watching Alistair squirm whenever Zevran flirted.

As the light began to wane Zevran had opened his mouth as if to speak, when their attention was called toward a sudden commotion at the base of some scaffolding up the way. It didn't take more than half a glance to see the source, not with the height of the humans – armed – visible over the cluster of elves. Sighing, the assassin stood and brought a couple of slender knives to hand. "Nothing like a little robbery to pass the time, no?"

Danica simply stood, closing the distance quickly and counting off the attackers as she went, eventually presenting a hand with four lifted fingers to the elf as had been their habit. "Oi! Not a good place to plunder if you're looking for riches, gents!" Pressing a bit of power into her staff, Danica volleyed a shot of ice overhead and into the wall of a building behind them.

"My dear," Zevran sang under his breath, "guarding your body would be much easier if it didn't make such attractive noises to the riff-raff."

"Easier, maybe, but not half so fun for you. Go."

At her signal, Zevran sprinted forward, prompting the small crowd of elves to part before him. As they scattered, he took aim and threw the knives, one from each hand. One found its target in the neck of one of the thugs, but his other mark had managed to duck out of the way. Cursing, the assassin leapt low, rolling under the weapons the three remaining thugs had drawn and coming to his feet behind them, daggers in hand.

Elves continued to scatter out of the way, and as Danica pelted them with distracting bolts from her staff she considered that no section of society should know so well how to clear out of the way of a fight. Signaling her intent to the assassin as soon as he turned around to face her, Danica stilled her staff, focusing on the left most of the men who had Zevran dancing a hectic defense. Calling on her power as she gestured, she pressed her hand toward her target and slowly pulled her fingers into a fist.

As the mage's power responded to the spell, Zevran was able to turn his attention away from the attacker at his right, though he did spare the briefest moment to think he'd never stop being fascinated by the ice statues this woman could create. Distracted as his other enemies were by the effect, he was able to strike through their defenses in short order, stepping between and drawing his blades across their throats.

Seeing her advantage, Danica began to channel her power once more, her dark spirit energy somehow managing to cast shadows into the shadows, her eyes never wavering from her frozen target. Building it, compounding it, she waited until the last possible second before releasing the bolt she held and sending it at the statue she'd created.

Gasps of horror and excitement both drowned out the sound as shards of ice scattered across the ground when force met frost.

"Zevran! You hurt?" Danica shouldered her staff, pleased for once that she'd been able to stay out of the fray. _Although if they were good enough to keep Zevran that busy, you'd think they'd have had sense enough to take out the caster first. Not that I should be complaining, although Gera will be sorely disappointed she wasn't here to see it._

"Just a scratch. A bath, some good wine, and perhaps a bosom on which to weep for my inadequacy should be all I require to return to top shape." Returning his daggers to their sheaths and collecting his knives, the assassin winked at those few elves who had again pressed close enough to have heard him, though he gave no more thought to those who tried to hold his attention.

* * *

"Zevran thought about asking you to join us tonight, you know," Alistair said as he walked into the bedchamber the following evening. He'd just been in his study with the elf for another of their conversations, something that had become a habit every few days. "He's worried what you might think of him."

"Please. You and I both know if I actually _presented_ my bosom in his general vicinity, he'd shriek like a girl and run away before someone whispered to you about his indiscretion." Danica marked her place in her book, setting it on the stand beside the bed.

"That wasn't what he meant. Wait. He talks about your bosom?" Aiming for, and missing, the laundry tub with his clothes, Alistair decided he didn't care and climbed into bed beside his woman. And her bosom. Which was his.

"That wasn't what he meant. That's just what he used back in Antiva, to convince me he really was who he said he was. Probably figured if there was _one_ thing you'd have told me about, that would be it."

"Just as long as he understands it's treason to touch the King's bosom."

Laughing, Danica slapped back with her hand, connecting with his chest. "We might about match there, on your self-important days when you puff up a little. So what _did_ he mean?" She knew it would take him a minute to recover from the bruise she'd just delivered to his ego, so she settled back against her pillows to wait out the bluster.

"Fine. He just thought you've seen him… distracted, lately, and didn't want you getting the wrong idea."

"I'm not asking. And I won't. He'll tell me when he's ready, and he's not so distracted I'm in danger."

"Which is about what I told him you'd say." Alistair leaned over for a goodnight kiss. "He's getting there."


End file.
